


Easiest Thing in the World

by AsperJasper



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, alcohol mention, race shows up there, spot bartends at a gay bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22855969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsperJasper/pseuds/AsperJasper
Summary: Spot met Race at the bar. He’d pushed two drinks across the counter and when the person who’d ordered them moved away from the bar, Race was instantly leaning towards him. He had a bright grin and a see-through, bright green, mesh crop top and neon pink nail polish, and Spot didn’t believe in love at first sight but he did know that he wanted to take this guy home.
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 12
Kudos: 83





	Easiest Thing in the World

Spot met Race at the bar. He’d pushed two drinks across the counter and when the person who’d ordered them moved away from the bar, Race was instantly leaning towards him. He had a bright grin and a see-through, bright green, mesh crop top and neon pink nail polish, and Spot didn’t believe in love at first sight but he did know that he wanted to take this guy home.

He didn’t usually stay past his shift. He wasn’t exactly the stay-out-all-night-and-party type. He worked four to midnight every night and pitied the poor assholes who had to stay until the bar closed at four am and clean up the inevitable sticky layer left on the floor from spilled drinks, not-quite-cleaned-up vomit, and probably some even worse things that nobody wanted to think about.

Somehow, though, it was almost one in the morning when he finally left the bar, probably a little more handsy than he should have been or normally would have been, but this guy who’s name he’d barely learned was leaning into every touch and touching him back and he’d pulled on a sweatshirt that somehow managed to hide just as little as the crop top had with the way it clung to him like it was two sizes too small.

By the time they made it up the stairs into Spot’s apartment, Spot felt like he’d suffocate if he didn’t get the sweatshirt off and his mouth on something a little more daring than Race’s neck.

But still.

He’d taken guys home before.

He worked at a gay bar. There were plenty of hot men to be found, and plenty of them were willing to come home with him if he was charming enough.

It had never been more than a one night stand. Why would it be?

Spot was hot, the guy he was taking home was hot, they’d both go to sleep feeling good and Spot was usually alone again when he woke up.

He woke up this time with an arm wrapped around his shoulders. A see-through, bright green, mesh crop top hanging precariously off the corner of the bed. A pair of black skinny jeans with so many holes they might as well have been shorts kicked off halfway between the bed and the door, hot pink nail polish catching his eye next to his face.

And Race woke up a few minutes later, groaning and blinking and he buried his face in Spot’s neck.

And for some reason, it made Spot smile. And push closer. And kiss Race’s head like he had some kind of emotional attachment to the guy or something. And he invited Race to stay for breakfast.

It was strange.

Race was goofy. He was flamboyant and loud and he laughed a lot and he told a lot of jokes. He took over Spot’s attempt at cooking breakfast and when he left it was almost noon and he’d scribbled his phone number in big letters across Spot’s calendar.

Spot didn’t call that day. He went to work and opened the bar at four. He half-heartedly flirted with a few people.

He didn’t call the day after that, either. He spent his day off in his pajamas. He ordered take out. He watched more episodes of Pretty Little Liars than was probably healthy because he had nothing better to watch.

He didn’t normally have to get over one night stands.

One the third day, he finally sent a text. Just his name.

“Hey this is Spot.” That was it. Four words.

It would have been impolite not to send something. Race had left his number, after all. He was probably expecting something.

“It’s about time, asshole ;) when’s the next time you’re working?”

And so the next week, Race was back. Leaning across the bar with that big grin on his face.

His nails were silver now. They caught the light when he moved his hands, and his grin only got wider when he noticed Spot paying attention to the way his hands were moving.

He was wearing a more subtle outfit this time. Spot was pretty sure his pants were either leather or pretending to be, but they definitely had more fabric than the jeans he’d been wearing last time, and his shirt was tight, but the fabric was opaque.

He was easily the most attractive person in the bar, Spot thought.

Race grinned. He tossed his head back and laughed, and his hair started to escape the gel or whatever he’d used to comb it back out of his eyes, and a perfect curl fell right in the middle of his forehead. He leaned close to Spot and brushed his fingers along Spot’s jawline and it felt like electricity.

He woke up the next morning to the smell of pancakes already coming from the kitchen and Race quietly singing to himself. His silver fingernails were catching the light again when Spot joined him in the kitchen.

Everything about Race was electric. He kissed Spot and his lips were sticky from maple syrup and Spot could taste it. His hands dropped around Spot’s waist and Spot was pretty sure he’d leave fingerprints from how he picked Spot up and sat him on the counter. His mouth was on Spot’s neck and collarbone and he whispered into Spot’s ear and it sent sparks racing up and down Spot’s spine until he was pressing as close as he could get.

Something about Race made Spot lose his head a little bit.

That didn’t happen often.

Spot was good at being calm, cool, and collected. It took a lot to get under his skin. He was the kind of person who didn’t get attached unless he meant to, and he rarely meant to. In his experience, attachment only led to getting hurt in the long run.

People left. People stop caring after a little while. People got distant. People ended up hurting him whether they meant to or not, and so he didn’t let himself get attached.

But Race…

Race just made him lose his head.

Race showed up at the bar right before Spot’s shift was over and dragged him along to wherever he was going next. Race made himself right at home in Spot’s apartment, Race pulled Spot into dances while he mouthed along to the music, Race sent Spot absolutely incomprehensible pictures captioned with “us” or “this made me think of you,” and it made Spot happy.

It made Spot laugh and smile and tug him close by his shirt that was usually undone one button past modesty and kiss him. And there were a million types of kisses, too. Not just the fast, needy ones like the first one.

There were fast kisses as one of them rushed out in the morning. Sweet kisses when Race was cooking and Spot was sitting on the counter, and sweeter kisses on mornings when they woke up together with nowhere to go. Gentle kisses on the forehead when Race thought he was asleep. Soft kisses with a smile underneath them when Race was proud of a joke.

Spot had never categorized kisses before. He’d never paid enough attention to the details of the person he was kissing to notice the subtleties. It was more about the very much not subtle things.

And the not subtle things were as good if not better with Race as they were with the other guys. Spot couldn’t get enough of him.

But the subtle things were what really got under Spot’s skin and made it impossible not to get attached.

The subtle things like the way he sighed and closed his eyes when he sniffed something he was cooking. And the way his smile could shift from innocent to mischievous with the spark of an idea in his eye. And the look on his face when he was sleeping. And the way he sang whenever he was in the kitchen.

Things Spot never would have noticed if it had been anyone but Race.

But with Race, he noticed something new every day.

So two nights had turned into three and into four and into five and Race showing up randomly at the bar had turned into Race taking Spot to the aquarium and museums and out to dinner and so a one-night stand had turned into a two-night stand and somehow that had turned into a relationship.

Not that Spot was unhappy about that.

At all.

He’d been surprised the first time Race had introduced him as “my boyfriend, Spot,” but he’d also been surprised by how much he liked it.

And he’d surprised himself the first time he introduced Race as “my boyfriend, Race,” but he’d liked saying that just as much as he liked hearing Race say it.

He liked the other things that came with the label “boyfriend,” too.

Like the comfortable, too big sweatshirts and flannels that got left in Spot’s apartment that he got to take advantage of. And after they’d been together for a while and Race had practically moved in and would be actually moving in when his lease was up in two months, the sleepy kisses that Spot got when he got home after a shift and Race was already asleep or almost asleep.

And the things Race said.

Spot had a list.

Of pet names: sweetheart, darling, baby, love, peaches (usually sarcastic), tesoro, amore, caro, angel, sunshine, cutie, honey, buttercup, sugar.

And of the things Race whispered when he thought Spot was asleep or couldn’t hear him.

Like, “you’re so much better than you think you are.”

And, “you deserve the world.”

“How did I get so lucky?” And “you know there’s more to you than what you seem.”

Things that made Spot smile and move closer even if he pretended to still be asleep.

He liked to tuck himself into Race’s side and feel Race pull him tight to him.

He hadn’t realized how much he liked cuddling until he found himself with a boyfriend who couldn’t seem to make it through a movie on the couch, let alone an entire night, without wrapping himself around Spot. He hadn’t realized how much he liked good, actually good, home-cooked food until he found himself with a boyfriend who practically lived in the kitchen, he hadn’t realized how little he actually liked being home until he started looking forward to coming home.

Before Race moved in, Spot’s apartment had started showing little touches of him. He had a drawer in the bedroom, a toothbrush in the bathroom, shampoo in the shower. Pots and pans and spices appeared in the kitchen, a soft blanket found a home on the back of the couch, Spot’s apartment slowly shifted away from being _his_ apartment and into being _their_ apartment.

And when Race actually moved in, Spot suddenly realized that his apartment hadn’t really been a home. He hadn’t had pictures hanging on the walls, hadn’t had any little decorations scattered around, no throw pillows or anything on the couches. He had his bookshelf, neatly organized by genre with years’ worth of journals on the bottom shelf, a warm gray comforter on the bed, and a mirror in the bathroom.

Race brought pictures of his family, an absolutely ugly painting that made him smile every time he looked at it because “it’s the most awful thing in the world and I spent four dollars on it, it’s hilarious and I will not compromise on this one, Spotty.” He brought salt and pepper shakers shaped like Darth Vader and a stormtrooper that found a home in the center of the kitchen table, and a few potted plants to put on the windowsill. He added pillows that mostly ended up on the floor, but looked really nice when they were where they belonged on the couch or bed. He proposed painting at least one room a color other than gray, beige or white, and when Spot agreed, he came home one day to find Race with blue paint smeared across his face and the hallway suddenly looking much more inviting.

It was amazing what a little bit of warmth and effort could do to turn a small apartment into a real home, a place Spot actively wanted to spend time in.

It wasn’t a choice, really, he didn’t decide to fall in love with Race, it just happened the same way their relationship had happened. It was completely natural, the next step in everything they had. And he didn’t decide to say it out loud, either.

He was sitting on the counter, watching Race cook. The kitchen had been especially hard hit by Race’s moving in, little trinkets sitting on every surface, most of them useful and some of them just cute, like the little dancing flower that sat on the windowsill. It was the room of the house that was the most Race, because Spot had never used the kitchen much anyway. Most of the rest of the apartment was kind of a combination of the two them, Spot’s plain sensibility spiced up with Race’s bright, fun colors and decorations. The kitchen, though, had nothing left of Spot. About a month after he’d moved in, Race had painted the kitchen yellow. It was as bright and cheerful as his personality, and watching Race move around while making dinner filled Spot with some kind of emotion he couldn’t quite label until it spilled out into words he definitely, definitely didn’t plan.

The thing was, Spot never meant to get attached. He had, and he’d accepted that with some kind of happy resignation when he’d realized how happy Race made him, but he still hadn’t meant to fall in love.

“I love you,” still left his mouth, completely without meaning to and completely out of his control.

And Race just grinned, the same smile that had caught Spot’s attention the first night they’d met, and kissed Spot sweetly.

“Love you too, Spotty,” he said, simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

And strangely enough, it was. Easy to love him. It was the easiest thing in the world to love the man who was dancing while cooking at the stove, bright blue fingernails flashing in the light, to music only he could hear. And Spot was happy to sit on his kitchen counter and love Race without having to try or think about it, really. Just sit and watch and love and know that the guy in the see-through, bright green, mesh crop top from a one-night stand had somehow worked his way fully into Spot’s life. That was perfectly all right with him.

No matter how unexpected it had been.

**Author's Note:**

> hey hey hey I'm Asper and this is something that I wrote for you (yes you) to read.
> 
> Please leave a comment if you read, comments are the fuel that keeps me going.
> 
> Also, feel free to come hang out on Tumblr! I'm @jack-kellly because I love him so much but can't get his name spelled right because the person who has his real name is not me.


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